Jack Spicer Makes Me Weep This Morning - Reprise Poem by Warren Falcon

Jack Spicer makes me weep this morning

waking up, bitterest espresso, heart's
tourettes, expostulations against what is
trying to enter through the window dinge,

the workman on the roof across the
passage, shirt off, sweats, gleams, banded
brow, loudly sings in creosote criollo song

of black hands,
eyes black, wet,

black brush stroph-ing tar
thick in slow rhythms

Coooo coo-coo coo-roooo, Paloma


Sudden

Spicer breaks

to shadows

across the page,

fruit fly insists

upon the


sweetness this

poem his

gift —

'I am going to ask Christ to give

me back my childhood, ripe with sunburn and feathers and a

wooden sword.'